


My Song Can Borrow from Your Grace

by elder-flower (elder_flower)



Series: Winter Stories [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bardic Inspiration, Caladrius - Freeform, Cu Sith, Cuddling & Snuggling, Did I Mention Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Old Books, Winter At Kaer Morhen, library times, monster books, myths and legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elder_flower/pseuds/elder-flower
Summary: In which Jaskier shelters from the cold amongst the ancient books of Kaer Morhen's library and Geralt keeps him company and... inspires him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Winter Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897447
Comments: 9
Kudos: 142





	My Song Can Borrow from Your Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragon_rider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/gifts).



> Step 1: do not intend to write the thing  
> Step 2: accept the thing is happening  
> Step 3: plan a couple of hundred words  
> Step 4: ???  
> Step 5: you have written two and a half thousand accidental words
> 
> In case I ever forget to mention it, let it be known that anything Witcher-related I write from here on out is dedicated to [dragon_rider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider), who is far nicer to me and my writing than I deserve! This whole thing came about due to a casual conversation about including monsters in fluff (without first Fucking Geralt UpTM), and she also helped me find a title (and by helped, I of course mean she found it for me).

Winter at Kaer Morhen was colder even than Jaskier had imagined; in the depths of midwinter, it was shockingly, viciously cold – dangerously cold to anyone without the altered constitution to cope with it. 

So as the midwinter solstice approached, Jaskier’s activities were somewhat limited. Although he would rather have had the option of going for walks through the ruins, further exploring the freezing halls or simply sitting outside, enjoying the aesthetically appealing sight of the witchers bashing seven hells out of each other with swords, he contented himself with spending most of his time in the library, where there was a large fireplace that was constantly lit, occasional company and essentially endless entertainment. 

He was planning a great deal of new songs, all based more or less closely on the new stories he had managed to get out of Eskel and eventually also Lambert (not Vesemir yet, but he lived in hope), and having originally set himself up in the library to do further research into the monsters they had mentioned to him, he had found that many of the books on the creatures of the world were surprisingly compelling – especially those by witchers or other long-dead folk that gave apparent first-hand accounts. He had spent the last few days absorbed in various tomes, mostly ancient and heavy and impractical in size one way or the other but all absolutely fascinating, letting his imagination run wild and taking notes when inspiration struck for yet another song or poem based on anything from a detailed account of a fight to the vaguest mention of a creature or the most fanciful of drawings. 

He couldn’t really play right now, for the sake of both his hands and his poor lute (she was tucked away in her case, safe and sound, at a tactical distance from the fire) but he had hundreds of notes, and even more ideas filling his excited head. 

Utterly absorbed in what he was reading, and wondering whether maybe he should attempt to copy down the amusingly quaint little drawings the author had included with his notes on the cu sith, Jaskier didn’t notice that someone else had joined him in the library. When Geralt appeared suddenly and silently next to him on the old but nicely comfortable velvet sofa that was his home of late, he jumped, almost pushing his current book off his lap onto the floor. Luckily, Geralt’s witcher reflexes allowed him to save it effortlessly and he handed it back with a raised eyebrow.

“Great goddess Geralt, you scared me!” he said, resettling himself in his nest of furs and hides – witchers, it seemed, much preferred blankets if they were made of something dead. “Using your witchery sneaking abilities to, well, sneak up on a man while he’s all tucked up nice and cozy, just innocently minding his own business and staying warm, honestly, how rude!”

“I wasn’t trying to be quiet,” Geralt told him, smiling ever so slightly. “I just came to see how you were.”

“Well, I suppose I was rather involved in my reading,” Jaskier admitted, reflecting Geralt’s tiny smile back with a much more obvious one of his own. “And it’s very thoughtful of you to come and check on me. I’m fine, though, of course. Staying warm. Snug as a bug in a rug and all that. I simply can’t believe how many wonderful books there are here, hidden away and never looked at by anyone except a couple of grumpy old witchers! What a waste! Of course, it’ll be less of a waste when I share some of the gems of knowledge and prose they contain with the world – in song form, naturally. You know, some of these past witchers actually had quite a way with words. Not  _ this _ one, so much, admittedly…”

Geralt listened to what he no doubt thought was an excessive amount of talking without losing his smile, which Jaskier thought somewhere in the back of his mind was rather lovely, and then glanced again at the book, an unnecessarily large fabric-covered thing that had once probably been a vibrant red colour.

“Velice of Wegrin,” he read from the spine. “I think I remember being made to read that one.”

“Made to read? Surely you mean enjoying the opportunity to learn from the experiences of your witcherly ancestor?” Jaskier said in mock outrage. “Have you no respect for knowledge? For history?” He grinned. Geralt saying things to tease him – generally by disparaging literature or history or the arts – well, there were few things he enjoyed more. “Here,” he said, finding the page he had been on and holding it so Geralt could see. “Have you ever seen one of these?”

“Cu sith? Not real,” Geralt said with confidence.

“Oh. Are you sure?” Jaskier examined the small ink drawings the author had illustrated his account with again. “But he gives so many details… And look, he even drew pictures of it!”

“Velice of Wegrin was famously a drunkard,” Geralt said. “He’s the only one who ever saw half of the things he wrote about. Until someone else comes across one, it’s safe to say that it’s not real.”

“Ah well. I suppose I could write about one anyway. Nobody needs to know they don’t exist – and most people don’t care anyway.  _ I heard his call across the moor… His coat like seaweed on the shore… _ No, by all the gods, that’s terrible. The cold must be getting to my brain. There’s something there though…”

Geralt ignored his creative attempts, which was fine, as they were apparently going to be nowhere near as impressive as usual (which was also fine, as the sheer amount of inspiration percolating in his brain was bound to lead to some genius lyrics sooner or later), and looked through the small mountain of other books Jaskier had stashed on the floor in front of him as today’s reading. Jaskier quietly admired the profile of his face as he leaned forward, and the way the firelight made his hair look like silk, as he half-heartedly thought through some other potential lines.

“ _ Stood upon the rock I fear his awful cry three times to hear. _ Mmm… nope. No.”

“Have you looked at this one yet?” Geralt asked him, sitting back with a black book, leather bound and reasonably sized, for once, in one hand.

“No, I don’t think so, I… Geralt?”

Geralt had shifted across to sit close beside him without so much as a word.

“You’ll like this one,” Geralt said, apparently oblivious to the fact that, had Jaskier not been wrapped in multiple layers, he would be pressed right up against his side. He opened the book close to the middle and started leafing through, and Jaskier concentrated very hard on looking at the movement of the pages instead of on how strange he felt on the inside all of a sudden, or how his heart was going just that bit faster (and how Geralt could definitely hear it). “Got some uncommon monsters in it.”

“Um, I appreciate you wanting me to experience the best of the monster manuals Castle Witcher has on offer, but don’t you have something more bracing and physical to be doing? Something to hunt? Something to fix, maybe? Someone to beat up so you don’t forget how?”

“Here, look,” Geralt said, tapping the page he had apparently been looking for instead of replying, and Jaskier realised that, despite his best intentions, he was looking at the witcher’s handsome face instead of whatever he was trying to show him. They were too close together by far for it to be anything but weird to be staring like this.

Just as he went to actually turn his gaze, if not his attention, to the book, however, Geralt turned his head and they were looking at each other, their faces, their  _ mouths _ only inches apart. Yep, definitely weird; weird but also nervously, sparklingly wonderful and delightful and- 

To Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt  _ laughed _ at him, a short, quiet, low sound, and honestly, that was just as wonderful and delightful as the thought that maybe they might just…

“ _ No _ , Jaskier,” he said in a tone of mild impatience. “I don’t have anything to fix right now, or anyone to beat up. I just want to sit in the library and be warm and comfortable and read about monsters.”

“With me?” Jaskier said breathlessly, stupidly. What he meant, of course, was  _ Right next to me, like this? Sharing books and space and warmth? Curled up together before a roaring fire in a way that’s as close to romantic as we are to each other? _

Geralt rolled his eyes in a dramatic manner that Jaskier appreciated. “No, by myself, this is just the spot I happened to choose.” 

“Alright, no need to take that tone with me!” Jaskier shot back, although actually he appreciated the sarcasm even more, and would have laughed if he hadn’t been so pleasantly on edge. “Well, get in then,” he said, opening his cocoon of furs and pelts on one side and letting in the air, chilly despite the fire, so he could cover Geralt’s back and shoulders. There was no way Geralt was suffering from the cold as he was, but that was no reason not to help him get nice and toasty. If that involved removing the barriers between them and getting even closer then so be it.

“You’ll get cold,” Geralt protested, fussing with the bear skin now around his shoulders, but instead of taking it off and piling it back on Jaskier like he expected, he shifted closer and pulled it across so it draped both of them like a huge cloak.

Even more surprisingly, and even more of a danger to Jaskier’s poor little heart, he left his arm around him, warm hand resting on his shoulder. 

“Warm enough?” 

Jaskier could only nod silently, trying to quickly develop the ability to consciously control his organs so he could stop his heart from getting any faster. 

“Good. Look at this, I think you’ll find it... I think you’ll like it.”

He had perched the book across both their knees and was tapping a page with the hand that wasn’t touching Jaskier. Jaskier looked down at the page, but he was not at all sure he would be able to concentrate on what Geralt wanted him to look at. They'd been in close proximity to each other before, but this was… well, this was different. 

However, looking down at the page, he found himself quickly drawn in by its description of a pure white bird with the ability to tell if a sick person would live or die.

“How poetic!” he murmured.

“I knew you’d say that,” Geralt replied, sounding… pleased, Jaskier thought. “Other sources say they can also heal the sick, if they choose to. In case you’re interested.”

“Geralt! Of course I’m interested! Is this one real? Wait, don’t tell me, I’d rather not- no,  _ do _ tell me, actually, do tell me.”

“General consensus is that they likely did exist, but nobody's heard of one since probably before I was born.”

Jaskier didn’t know, exactly, how long ago that was but considering his current position he didn’t even consider pushing his luck by asking.

“How about it, then?” Geralt asked, tapping the page again. “Giving you any ideas?”

“Well  _ naturally _ it is!” Jaskier assured him. “A wonderful tale it’ll make too. Soulmates, two women I think, oh I can see them now, who run away together and live in peace in a beautiful cottage, and in a nearby coppice there lives a whole- a whole- what do you call a group of birds? I’ll find a better word, but a whole  _ group _ of these beautiful white birds, oh, and they visit the women's garden and they feed them crumbs and admire their beauty. And sometimes people from the nearby village come to find out if they'll live through their illnesses. But of course they always secretly hope to get healed too - but they never do. And then... And then! One of the women gets sick…  _ terribly _ sick… and her soulmate knows she’s going to die, but doesn’t want her love to be afraid, so she does everything she can to keep her from encountering the birds as they usually do. Oh! But! The dying woman _does_ know she’s dying, but she hides  _ that _ from  _ her _ soulmate to save her the pain of knowing she knows… and in the end… Uh, sorry, I’m sure you didn’t want so much detail.”

“You really came up with all that just now?” Geralt said, and it sounded suspiciously like he was impressed, which increased the warm, soft feeling behind Jaskier’s ribs tenfold. 

“Um, yeah? It’s just… what I do, you know? Have… ideas. Oh, but I do love this one!  _ Thank you, _ Geralt!”

Perhaps he sounded a bit too heartfelt, because Geralt looked distinctly surprised.

“For… showing you a page in a book of creatures?”

“Yes! For showing me, for helping inspire me! And for…” Jaskier shrugged and looked back down at the yellowed page, suddenly slightly embarrassed about his effusiveness, aware of how uncomfortable he might be making Geralt. “And, well, for knowing I would like it, I really-” 

“Jaskier.” The sound of Geralt saying his name was as decisive as a door slamming but somehow less harsh, and Jaskier looked back up at him, really not knowing what expression to expect, but before their eyes even met Geralt was  _ kissing _ him, great goddess, actually kissing him.

He had imagined kissing Geralt, oh, only about a thousand times (a day, for years). And while he had imagined all kinds of kisses, including ones like this, he would never have thought that kissing him in real life would be like this – soft and sweet and… and over far too quickly for his liking. Well perhaps he could have predicted that. No kiss with Geralt could ever go on long enough.

“Um,” he said eloquently as Geralt pressed their foreheads briefly together and then leaned away from him again. He didn’t look embarrassed, or regretful, or confused; as he held Jaskier’s gaze for a long, quiet moment he just looked… peaceful. Contented.

Jaskier, meanwhile, though calm on the outside, was mentally scrambling for something to say that wasn’t too pushy, too demanding, too much. The problem was, he was only good at  _ too much. _

_ What did that mean?  _

_ That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.  _

_ Can we do that again, right now, and then at least once every day from now on?  _

_ I’ll fucking love you forever. _

Nope, all of those were definitely out. 

“I… liked… that?” was what he went for in the end. He had felt more like an accomplished poet and lyricist in his life. 

“Good,” Geralt said simply, and his eyes were so warm, and Jaskier  _ felt _ so warm, inside and out. “I liked it too.” Geralt’s voice was so gentle, and by all the gods, Jaskier thought he might actually melt. 

“I…” Jaskier started, but could come up with nothing else. Who would have ever thought there would be an occasion when Geralt of Rivia could put together a more complete sentence than he could? He laughed helplessly.

Geralt gave him another one of those tiny, gorgeous smiles and then pulled him even closer with the arm still around his shoulders, turning his attention back to the book.

“There’s something else in here I think you’ll be interested in,” he started as if the whole kissing, changing Jaskier’s life forever interlude had never happened, but it had, it  _ had _ , and Jaskier had literally never been happier than he was right at that moment. 

He shuffled around a bit to get more comfortable against Geralt’s side and tucked their shared furs more snugly around them as Geralt searched through the pages. 

They spent the rest of the day right where they were, chatting quietly about which monsters were real and which were just legends, and which ideas for songs were good and which were terrible, and Jaskier literally couldn’t stop smiling into the books they browsed together.

It was now officially the best winter ever, and he thought he might never feel cold again.

  
  



End file.
